


darling, dearest, dead

by johniaurens



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, like seriously there's nothing nice about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johniaurens/pseuds/johniaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For weeks Alexander finds himself starting letters to Laurens. <i>Dear Laurens. I miss you so dearly.</i>. That's where he stops, every time, has no idea how to continue, what to say, <i>how</i> to say it. The letters are starting to pile up. He gets an overwhelming urge to burn all of them. Watch the smoke circle overhead. Watch his Laurens go with the wind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	darling, dearest, dead

**Author's Note:**

> _To Beatrice -_  
>  darling, dearest, dead.  
> \- Lemony Snicket, The Bad Beginning

Laurens dies in a battle in South Carolina. 

They ship him back and he's black and blue all over, cold and stiff. His eyes are open like he's looking into afterlife, like he's half-awake, startled from deep sleep. The look on his face is surprised, like he can't quite believe it himself, like he's confused about what he's seeing. Alexander wants to close his eyes, wants to close his own eyes, wants to close the distance between them and lie down, go with him. Surely no one could be cruel enough to deny him that. Surely there is no way for them to keep them separated now, after this. 

Eliza puts her hand on Alexander's arm. “Alexander”, she says. It's all she says, but it's enough. He feels ashamed for even thinking about it, about leaving his dear Eliza. How foolish of him. Surely he could never make his dear Eliza go through this. 

He takes her home, or, more accurately, she takes him home and he says “I would like to retire to my office now to work on these letters if you don't mind”. Mechanical. Clinical. Practiced. She lets go of his arm. He refuses to _feel_.

For weeks Alexander finds himself starting letters to Laurens. _Dear Laurens. I miss you so dearly._. That's where he stops, every time, has no idea how to continue, what to say, _how_ to say it. The letters are starting to pile up. He gets an overwhelming urge to burn all of them. Watch the smoke circle overhead. Watch his Laurens go with the wind.

There's dying in combat and then there's _Laurens_ dying in combat. Laurens who could not stop picking fights with people he was bound to lose against, Laurens who always seemed to have a death wish, Laurens whose calloused hands he knew so well. A part of him wonders whether he ever intended to return from South Carolina in the first place. 

He starts another letter. _Dear Laurens._ He doesn't know what else to say. Laurens is twenty seven and dead. _Dear Laurens. I wish you weren't dead._ He hopes that Laurens knew the extent of his affection for him. He must have, god, he must have – if there's one thing he _needs_ to know is that Laurens knew. _Dear Laurens, I will never know whether you intended this or not but, likewise, you will never know –-_.

Fall turns into winter. Alexander keeps writing. Eliza keeps worrying.

 _Dear Laurens. I'm afraid I don't know what to say to you._ He asks Eliza to burn the letters for him and she does, bless her, darling Eliza, she does it for him, doesn't ask questions, just kisses his cheek, carries the pile of paper and ink and his heart blood outside, sets it all on fire. Alexander watches from his office, empty-eyed and exhausted. 

Maria Reynolds. It's hazy. She's beautiful and scared. Vulnerable in a heart-achingly familiar way. She's not _Laurens_ but she comes close in a way he can't explain or understand. 

_Dear Laurens_. Crosses it out. _Dearest Laurens_. Crosses it out. _My dearest Laurens_. He sets the quill down. Eliza has started to worry – it isn't fair to her, it really isn't. _My dearest, dearest Laurens._ He rubs his temples, knows there's probably ink everywhere, doesn't really care. 

_Dearest Laurens. I miss you dearly._

It's the final draft. It isn't much but it's the only thing he can scrape up on the paper anymore, the only thing he can think of. The most important thought he has, really. 

_Dearest Laurens. I miss you dearly._

He burns it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr @lcfayctte for not having read a series of unfortunate events


End file.
